


A battle of wills

by LadyIrina



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, crazy meets crazy and sparks fly, slight breathplay I suppose, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina
Summary: Ivar and Heahmund plays a battle of wills, a game of manipulation, and it has unexpected results when Heahmund aims for the one weakness he finds in the other man...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gentrychild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gentrychild/gifts).



[](https://ibb.co/ddX2CG)  


They were leaving soon; going back to where the heathens spawned from, and Heahmund was going with them.  
It was like being caught in a nightmare he could not wake up from and a dark haired, blue eyed man was his own personal demon.

Not a day passed without Ivar coming by to taunt him, occasionally several times in one day, mixing verbal barbs along with the degradation of feeding the bishop his scraps. It was impossible to tell whether it was anger or the hunger which burned the hottest in Heahmund’s belly.

The heathen seemed both disgusted and fascinated by his new pet. In return; Heahmund despised his presence, yet couldn’t deny the primal intelligence that lurked within the cripple. That clever mind was why Ivar was so dangerous. His tactics cost them York and Heahmund his freedom.  
Yes, Ivar had taken away his freedom and could easily take his life, but he could never touch Heahmund’s faith.

Ivar continued to mock, Heahmund fired back with the word of God and neither seemed to be gaining ground. They circled each other in a verbal battle, advancing and blocking, but where Ivar found it amusing; Heahmund was furious. How dared he treat this like a game?

Adding insult to injury, the cripple then dared to imply that being a Christian meant he would be unable to act like a true man, making the women of the country welcome the Viking invasion. While his weakness and transgressions of the past was something to be ashamed of, Heahmund still rose to chomp at the bait before he could stop himself.  
“Not a single one of the God-fearing women I have known would ever have welcomed a heathen into her bed!” Heahmund declared. 

“You have known many women then?” Ivar asked, gleeful.

For once, the bishop hesitated, not knowing how to answer that without revealing his own mistakes. “I…” Heahmund cleared his throat. “As a man of God, I am duty-bound to guide…”

Ivar laughed, studying him like a prize stallion. “You keep surprising me, Bishop Heahmund. I like that.” 

Swallowing hard, Heahmund turned to stare straight ahead, forcing away a strange, uneasy feeling. 

“I think our gods, and maybe our slave-women, will like you too,” Ivar teased.

“I have no interest in your gods nor your slave-women!” Heahmund shot back, unable to keep from glaring at the other man once more.

Ivar strangely enough didn’t seem offended at this. He eventually gave a little shrug and got up on his feet, leaning heavily on his crutches. “No women then.” 

Heahmund could only relax when the door closed behind Ivar and he was finally alone again. He exhaled and some of the tension in his body bled out, when suddenly he realized that Ivar had said; no women.  
Wait, what?

-

The crossing of the ocean was horrible. Heahmund was cold and hungry and, yes, afraid. He had no idea what was in store for him. Ivar would keep him alive as long as it suited him, but only the Lord knew how long that meant and what it entailed.

Once they reached shore, the humiliation continued at the feet of the man called King Harald. Forced to kneel, Heahmund felt Ivar smack him with his crutch, twice, to make him straighten up and he dreamed about grabbing the damn thing and ramming it down the man’s throat.

He was later relocated and chained in a room that would serve as his prison.

Finally Ivar revealed why he’d brought Heahmund; he admired his skills and he wanted him to fight for him in his war. While it was a relief to at least have an answer as to why he was still alive, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care about petty squabbles between these people.  
When Ivar threatened to kill him if he didn’t fight for him, Heahmund felt no fear. It would almost be a relief to be released from this state of constant vigilance and apprehension. It was only when Ivar gave him a loophole, a way to stay alive, and he asked why he gave his this choice that things turned interesting.

There was a change to Ivar’s voice, a soft and almost vulnerable touch to it, when he admitted he was jealous of Heahmund, that he would like to be like him; “Strong. …And whole.” 

Heahmund smelled weakness like a shark senses blood in the water.  
With all his big talk and blood-thirsty behavior, it was easy to forget that Ivar was still a young man and what that meant.  
Yes. He would fight alongside Ivar, but with an agenda of his own.

-

A feast followed. Heahmund watched with disdain at the behavior that grew increasingly rowdier along with the flow of mead. 

Ivar raised his cup in a mock salute towards him, daring him to refuse, so of course Heahmund lifted his own and gave him a smile so fake it fooled no one. To his irritation, it only made Ivar laugh.

When a couple next to him more or less began mating on the bench, Heahmund snarled, crossed himself and headed for the door. He might be willing to slaughter heathens, but this was not a part of the deal.

His regular guards followed him to his room, or prison, but he was allowed to close the door on them and the feast. As always, seeking comfort in his prayers made Heahmund find his inner peace as time passed and he was almost at ease when the door slammed open again.  
Spinning around, Heahmund was ready to defend himself when he found himself staring at Ivar.

The man made his way inside, even more unstable on his crutches than usual, only to lean against the wall next to the door. He sent Heahmund an insolent smile, smugly aware he’d startled the other man, and Heahmund struggled with the urge to snatch one of his crutches away from him and let him fall flat on his face.  
He would have, Heahmund knew, because there was no mistaking the shine in Ivar’s eyes. He was quite drunk.

“Does your god forbid you from attending feasts?” Ivar asked, eager to provoke as usual.

“No.” Heahmund replied. He stood up from where he had been kneeling in prayer by his bed.

Ivar frowned, leaning his head back against the wall too. “You Christians… You do like to spend your time on your knees… I guess you have a lot of practice by now, yes?”

Heahmund opened his mouth to reply, but voices made both him and Ivar look towards the doorway. An entwined couple made their way past the entrance, leaving little doubt as to what they were planning to do, and Heahmund stalked over to shut the door.  
Turning to berate Ivar, Heahmund realized two things simultaineously; One, he’d never been this close to Ivar without chains or somebody restraining him. Two, there was a heat and a hunger in the blue eyes as they slowly shifted from the door to focus on Heahmund.

The insolent smirk returned to Ivar’s face. “Jealous, bishop? Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you a slave-girl?” He was always so confident and secure in himself. It was time to change that.

Before every battle, Heahmund would pray to the Lord for forgiveness for the sins he was about to commit in His name. He did the same thing now and leaned over and kissed Ivar.

It was a rather gentle touch of lips, just enough for Heahmund to be surprised that someone as harsh as Ivar could feel so soft, and he felt the air on his mouth as the younger man drew a sharp breath.  
Leaning back a little, Heahmund saw annoyed confusion on Ivar’s face.

“What are you…” He began, but Heahmund wasn’t interested in hearing what he was going to say, so he kissed him again. A little firmer this time, registering the soft give, before he felt something sharp prod into his ribs.

Glancing down, Heahmund saw Ivar pressing a small knife to his torso and his gaze flicked up to meet the furious blue stare. 

There was a clear warning in those eyes, but Heahmund also noted that Ivar had made no effort to gut him yet. He was treading on dangerous ground, pushing the limit…

The rush that usually followed a battle flooded Heahmund, adrenaline and his own arrogance driving him, and he leaned in again. This time he kissed Ivar like he meant it, lips pushing and easing against Ivar’s own, lifting a hand to lightly touch the hair at his nape, and he barely noticed the increased pressure of the knife until a sharp sting was followed by a drop of blood sliding down his skin.  
Only then did he abandon the still surprisingly soft lips.

Ivar automatically leaned after him with a dazed expression before he caught himself doing it and yanked himself away. His face was now a mask of pure rage.  
No. Not just rage. The eyes flickered. There was a raw longing there too, and something else… Something that almost looked like fear.

Heahmund made no effort to resist when Ivar shoved him away with a snarl, merely stepped back and allowed the other man to yank the door open and flee.

Reciting the Lord’s prayer, Heahmund thoughtfully lifted two fingers to his lips.  
Interesting.

-

Ivar did not appear in his room the next day. Heahmund wasn’t overly surprised, but he was wary.  
Ivar was unpredictable at the best of days. Who knew where his mind was after what had happened the previous night? Instead of waiting for his judgment, Heahmund decided to find out.

Leaving the room, guards in tow, he walked outside and sauntered around the village for a bit. Eventually, he did find Ivar. The crippled man was sitting on something while some heathen pranced around him. It was battle practice and it took barely a heartbeat for Heahmund to recognize his own beloved blade in the hands of Ivar. He felt a sting of resentment at the sight.

Crossing his arms and joining the small crowd surrounding the two, Heahmund settled to watch for a little while. He’d seen Ivar in battle and his memory did not fail him; the man was quite skillfull, even if he couldn’t move around as one should in a fight. The unfamiliar brute did not manage to land a single blow.

Suddenly Ivar caught sight of Heahmund and the blue eyes narrowed.  
“Bishop Heahmund!” Ivar called out, making everyone look over at him. “Come. Train with me.”

Heahmund hesitated. There was anger and malice in the blue eyes. Was this a trap? “I have no weapon,” he eventually drawled, but only got a blunt training sword shoved into his hands.

Stepping closer to Ivar, Heahmund absently tested the weight and balance of the sword, aware of how Ivar was watching him like a predator instead of a ground-bound creature, and his effort of a surprise attack was met with Ivar easily blocking his sword.

It felt good to be practicing again, even if it was with a blunt sword of shoddy quality and with a man who could not move around. Heahmund found it close to impossible to get through Ivar’s defense and was about to compliment him when the mockery began. Slight jabs at first, but Ivar soon went into colorful insults meant to make Heahmund lose his temper.  
It worked.

Red rage flared in front of his eyes and before he could stop himself, Heahmund followed through his latest attack by slamming his shoulder into Ivar’s and sending him tumbling into the mud. It was hard to say who was most startled by the event; Heahmund or the crowd surrounding them.

Ivar, on the other hand, did not hesitate to spin over and lash out with the sword.

Stumbling back towards safety, Heahmund was about to apologize, as he always did when he overstepped the line set for him, but instead he was mesmerized by how the man moved on the ground. Heahmund might be the one standing on his feet, but the coiled anger and power in Ivar was evident in his every movement. 

Heahmund probably had an upperhand, literally, in this fight, but to use it meant having to get within striking range of Ivar, and that would probably be a bad idea. Like a snake, he was indeed ready to strike.

He briefly considered throwing his blunt sword at him, but there was no possible good outcome from that. He’d either hit Ivar, which would result in painful humiliation for the man keeping him alive, or he’d miss or Ivar would simply knock the sword away and that would leave him without a weapon. There was really no way he could win…

Before he could decide what to do, Ivar suddenly rolled towards him and lashed out. It was instinct and pure luck that made Heahmund scramble backwards and awkwardly block the (very sharp) sword. Ivar followed, spinning and rolling and lashing out, and Heahmund struggled to keep him at bay while continuing to shuffle backwards.

He stepped on, well, something, in the mud and Heahmund felt himself loose his footing and went flailing on his back. The air was knocked out of him and before he could really do anything, Ivar was over him, sneering a smile that was more teeth than anything else, and holding the tip of the sword to his throat.  
Breathing hard and swallowing hard, Heahmund released his training sword and he slowly raised his hands in mute surrender. In the background, the crowd roared their approval. 

Ivar, breathing hard as well, let the sword prod at his throat for a few moments longer, clearly savoring the moment, but then his gaze dipped briefly to Heahmund’s lips and his smile wavered. 

Almost forgetting to breathe, Heahmund didn’t move, waited, but Ivar then abruptly rolled off him and merely slithered his way back to where he’d been sitting at the start of this so-called training.  
Heahmund closed his eyes, slumping back in the mud, relieved that the sharp steel was gone from his throat and yet feeling strangely unsatisfied…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure filth.

At the end of the day, plagued by restlessness, Heahmund found himself seeking out Ivar again. His anger had caused him to send Ivar into the mud and such an act was beneath him.  
The pagan ways were clearly rubbing off on him and he refused to fall to their level.  
Maybe his victory over Heahmund had restored Ivar’s honor in the eyes of the heathens, but Heahmund had to make sure he’d not ruined the chance to influence the man.

When he entered Ivar’s room only to find the man shirtless and in the process of washing dirt off his torso, Heahmund wondered if God had indeed abandoned him.

The guards were dismissed with an absent wave of Ivar’s hand and finally the unholy eyes settled on Heahmund. “What do you want, Bishop?”

“I… came to apologize.” Heahmund said. “I should not have pushed you today. It was unworthy of me.”

Ivar shrugged, returning to his task. “You have a temper, Christian. Same as me. I know that.” He sent him a brief but sly look. “I still defeated you, though.”

“You had my sword, gave me a child’s toy and the ground was slippery,” Heahmund growled, knowing it sounded weak even to him. 

“I saw you fight, remember? I know when you’re holding back.” Ivar dipped his hands into the bowl of water and splashed his face as well, rubbing away at the dirt.

Heahmund shifted his weight uneasily as he found himself studying the heathen. Ivar still had the shape of a young man, but his torso was more muscular than what Heahmund had come to connect with anyone of that age. Though, with the amount of strain it was put through to make up for the ruined legs, it made sense. There were also scars, not as many as Heahmund’s own hide, in addition to a big tattoo on Ivar’s back. If not for the weak legs, he was the perfect picture of a strong warrior.

He snapped out of what could only be described as staring as Ivar pulled on a shirt and turned to face him. With no braids in his wet hair, any chainmail or weapons, Ivar looked very different from how Heahmund had gotten used to seeing him. 

Ivar held out an arm towards him. “Come.” And when Heahmund only made a confused frown, Ivar rolled his eyes with impatience. “Do not make me have to use my crutches just to get to my bed. Make yourself useful.”

Clearing his throat, Heahmund walked over and ducked down to let Ivar wrap his arm behind his neck before he pulled him up and helped him over to his bed. He bent down to lower Ivar to sit on one of the many pelts were piled on the bed and was awfully aware of the fact that the heathen was constantly watching him with a grin.  
When Ivar was seated and wouldn’t release his grip on his neck, Heahmund made himself look over at the face uncomfortably close to his own. “What?”

“Yet again you surprise me, Bishop Heahmund.” Ivar breathed a laugh, a touch of mania to it. “Who are you really? Do you even know? Or have you been hiding behind that cross of yours for too long?”

Heahmund didn’t have an answer. He knew he’d had a plan when he’d instigated this. When he’d decided to abide his time and agree to fight alongside Ivar, he’d done so with a reason of his own. Problem was that at the moment, Heahmund couldn’t remember what it was…

Further amused by the lack of a response, Ivar just about cackled with glee.

Finally the grip behind his neck loosened, and Heahmund felt Ivar’s arm slide away and was just about to straighten up when he found his face grabbed between both of Ivar’s hands instead. He had just enough time to blink before he was pulled into a harsh kiss.

Ivar’s lips were not soft this time; they were tight and tense, aggressive. He pushed hard but Heahmund stood his ground. Then Ivar pulled back a little, snarling defiantly, yet not releasing his grip on him. “Is this what your god approves of?”

“No,” Heahmund breathed. “Does yours?”

Ivar clenched his jaw, still obstinate. “No.”

“No gods then. Just us.” Heahmund leaned in, slowly, as not to unsettle a clearly already unstable Ivar, and brushed his lips over Ivar’s own. Like the last time, it only took a gentle touch to bewilder the younger man. 

Ivar frowned with confusion, losing some of the manic shine in his eyes, but made no objection when Heahmund sat down next to him and leaned in again. 

To his horror, Bishop Heahmund experienced a jolt of lust shoot directly to his groin when he felt the first hesitant response from Ivar’s lips, but he had never been a man who could deny his body its wants when it cried out for something. He knew this was wrong, so very wrong, but… if there was no gods tonight, only them, then maybe… just maybe…

He kissed him again, paused, then again.. He couldn’t stop…

-

A light touch to the side of Ivar’s neck made him lean slightly into it, and while Ivar did not release his lips or the iron grip on his face; it revealed how delightfully sensitive he was to a caress. Just as he had suspected since that first kiss. How long was it since someone touched Ivar like this?  
It made Heahmund want even more. Adding greed to pride and lust of his mortal sins committed.

Ivar was responding easily to his lips by now, so it was easy to nudge his mouth open and deepen the kiss. He slid his tongue into Ivar’s warm, wet mouth and stole the surprised breath exhaled. 

He’d never seduced anyone before, his sins had usually thrown themselves at him, but Heahmund decided it couldn’t be too difficult with a man. After all, he knew what he liked himself. Moving his hand down Ivar’s chest, sliding his thumb over his nipple and feeling the instinctive jolt Ivar’s body made, Heahmund almost smiled. And repeated the motion.  
There was no doubt in Heahmund’s mind that this was a mortal sin; nothing could feel this good and NOT be a mortal sin.

To make things worse, or sinfully better, Ivar’s tongue turned out to be talented at kissing as well as throwing out vile words. Heahmund lost himself in the feeling completely and Ivar seemed unwilling to put an end to it; still holding on to his face with both hands as if he thought he’d stop if he didn’t.  
Eventually Heahmund did move away, but only to lean down and place his open mouth on Ivar’s neck, covering his skin and feeling the rapid beat of his pulse under his tongue. The broken sound Ivar made nearly broke Heahmund as well. By now, he was straining against his pants and getting impatient for release.

He rested his forhead to Ivar’s shoulder and let his hand slide down Ivar’s stomach with intent, only to have it caught in a vice-like grip seconds after his face was abruptly released.

Surprised, Heahmund glanced up and for the first time since they happened upon each other; Ivar wouldn’t meet his eyes. The younger man seemed unsettled by something, verging on nervous, very unlike himself. There was no mistaking the flush on his face, the dazed look and shaky breathing as anything but lust, but he seemed worried for some reason. His grip around Heahmund’s wrist was tight enough to hurt.

Seconds passed and nothing happened.

Unable to resist pushing it a little, Heahmund then leaned in to place a couple of persuasive kisses on the trembling lips. It took a little effort, but finally there was softening of Ivar’s mouth and the grip on his wrist loosened a bit.

Rewarding him with a few more kisses, Heahmund ventured to move his hand downwards again and while Ivar didn’t release him, he didn’t try to stop him either. When he was finally allowed to slide his hand between the younger man’s legs, Heahmund was unprepared for finding him only half-hard, if that.

There was a moment of startled uncertainty. Was Heahmund a bigger sinner than Ivar for enjoying this so much that he was hard enough to ache? But the half-choked whimper Ivar made and his automatic push into the touch was reassurance enough to continue.

-

Undoing the fastenings on Ivar’s pants, Heahmund felt Ivar’s grip on his wrist tighten again but he ignored it and snuck his hand inside the clothing. When he wrapped his fingers around the cock, it removed the question if it was the size of the thing that made Ivar wary about his touch.  
Pulling him free, Heahmund released the half-interested flesh to lift his hand to slowly and lewdly lick his palm; keeping his stare on Ivar’s flustered face as he did so. Ivar visibly shuddered, absently releasing his grip on the wrist, only to close his eyes hard when Heahmund reached down and took a hold of him again.

As he began to move his hand, Heahmund leaned in to kiss his mouth, his neck and, yes, there was a moment of smugness when Ivar’s hands came up to take a hold of his shoulders and he felt the fingers dig in harder by each sound that forced its way up Ivar’s throat. 

Heahmund shuddered himself when Ivar was the one to lean against him, hiding his face to his neck and there was teeth clamping down on his skin to unsuccessfully strangle the sounds he was making. It felt almost as good as the sensation of Ivar’s cock hardening between his fingers until it was as firm and eager as his own. 

It didn’t take long after that for there to be a touch of distress to Ivar. His grip was harsh and his hips were jerking impatiently, but he was squirming restlessly as if he didn’t know how to get where he wanted to be. Heahmund used his free hand to urge Ivar’s face to his and drew him in a kiss while he tightened his grip and drew his thumb over the top of the cock; just how he liked to do to himself.  
The effect was immediate.

Breaking the kiss with a surprised groan, Ivar was staring at him while he shivered and arched through his messy release.

Heahmund knew he would be wearing bruises on his shoulders the next day.

He expected to see satisfaction and maybe some appreciation in Ivar’s expression, but instead he found disbelief and euphoria. Heahmund wasn’t sure why a simple deed had caused such a reaction, but by then he was too worked up to care. He needed his release too!  
Reaching down to open his own pants, Heahmund was not prepared for Ivar giving his shoulders a hard shove to send him back amongst the pelts. Before he could really react beyond an annoyed grunt, Heahmund was yet again surprised by a smirking Ivar hovering over him.

“Now; you.” Ivar said and reached for the pants.

Heahmund had never met anyone who learned as fast as Ivar the Boneless. In these few moments, he’d experienced Heahmund’s touch and was now copying it down to perfection. Everything except one thing; instead of using his tongue, Ivar used his own release to ease the friction of his touch.  
It should have disgusted Heahmund. It really should have. Instead, he arched back into the pelts and groaned out loud as he nearly came from the first touch. Lord have mercy on a lost soul…!

He was loud in his passion, he’d always been loud since his first sinful discovery, it was in his nature. Whatever he did, Heahmund was always loud about it and there was little he could do to change that.

As his pleasure grew under Ivar’s touch, approaching a glorious completion, Heahmund felt Ivar’s other hand wrap around his throat and gave it a warning squeeze. That should have worried him, but with the amount of sinning he’d just done and probably would do in the future; Heahmund didn’t care. Even as the grip tightened enough to cut off his air when he wouldn’t - couldn’t - quiet down, and his body twitched at the lack of breath, he didn’t care.

He left his fate to God, or the heathen gods, whichever was paying attention at the moment, and merely gave in to his primal needs; mouthing a mute scream under the hand clamping down on his throat as his release finally broke free. It was something more intense than he’d ever felt before and for a moment; he was fairly certain he’d died and gone to heaven.

When the grip vanished from his throat, Heahmund’s body automatically heaved for air. Ivar slumped down next to him, resting on an arm and watching him carefully.

Allowing himself a few moments to gather himself, mind and body, Heahmund cleared his throat to regain his voice. “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking whether or not to kill you,” Ivar stated. He squirmed a little to get comfortable. “Everyone has betrayed me. Even my brothers. Floki left me.” Ivar frowned. “I’m wondering if you could be the one I could trust. Or if I should kill you before you get the chance. Could you be the one?”

Heahmund finally glanced over at him, knowing that whatever plan he’d had at the beginning was long gone by now. “I’m the one, Ivar.” He would need a new plan. “You can believe in me.”

Ivar gave a cold smile. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to speed-write this and get it out there before canon comes along and ruins everything. With special thanks to Gentrychild, who encouraged me to continue when Present Tense kept infiltrating the story and drove me half-insane!  
> I might add more if there is more inspiration on the show, or even Ivar's POV, but that depends a bit if there is anyone who cares to read it?  
> If you're a Ivar/Heahmund shipper, let me hear from you!
> 
> EDITED: You guys are amazing and because of that; http://archiveofourown.org/works/13289703/chapters/30412479


End file.
